


Day off

by Askell



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Adorable, Bisexual Jason Todd, Cuddles, Cute, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eskimo Kisses, Fluff, Fluid Sexuality, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Jason-Centric, Lazy Mornings, Love, Morning Cuddles, Multi, Touch Deprivation, casual hugs, dressing up, mostly comfort tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 08:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13543632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askell/pseuds/Askell
Summary: The Outlaws have a day off, which means no vigilantism, and no fights. Only being lazy together, wearing Kori's clothes and cuddling.





	Day off

**Author's Note:**

> At first this was supposed to be the opening scene of a detailed plot (and lots of angst), but I decided that for now it would be a one-shot. Might change, so stay tuned friends.
> 
> I mixed up a whole lot of headcanons in there, and honestly this might be one of the most adorable things I've ever written.
> 
> About the touch deprivation thing, I didn't develop it too much because I have it and it sucks massive balls, but it would seem logical to me that the three of them would be suffering from different degrees of it due to their pasts. Hence, a whole pile of hugs and kisses because, dammit, they deserve it. 
> 
> It's also 2:15am so there are probably typos, feel free to notify me and I'll correct them in the morning.
> 
> Please leave a comment to make a smol fanfic author happy~

Soft guitar notes echoed from somewhere in the apartment. A light summer breeze lazily raised the curtains, agitated posters on the walls, made dried up houseplants shiver. It was at the same time familiar and empty in a way only a home feels like. A false note was followed by a whispered curse, the player starting back a few chords before. Warm and deep, a woman’s voice asked a question, her pitch higher at the end of the sentence. It was immediately followed by a third man’s chuckle, his accent accentuating diphthongs in the way only a polyglot does at some point. 

Weapons glinted on the walls, sharp and elegant, clashing with the old-fashioned rock and r’n’b bands posters taped randomly around them. Abstract items were hung above the mix, glowing faintly on their own. Alien in manufacture as well as in looks, it was difficult to decipher if they were utensils or works of art. A massive blackboard occupied an entire wall of the living room, different sets of handwritings and colors covering it.

Cursive italic crimson words and arrows made up perfect lines, whereas irregular green typewriter letters invaded free space like vines. Rarer, violet annotations showed up a studied perfection and readability characteristic of people used to another type of alphabet. Only once or twice did the purple color make up otherworldly shapes, probably untranslatables. An arrow was planted somewhere near the middle of the board, looking like an accidental release, and was now used to hang post-its, as well as takeout menus. 

A loud laugh rippled across the walls, making the glasses in the kitchen tint with its strength. The two men warned their friend not to make them burst, again. She apologized, her hand returning in the silky heap of red hair of the guitar player. Sitting on the floor while she was sprawled on the bed, she looked at her other friend, whose thighs she was using as a pillow. Dark, tall and handsome, larger than life, he casually rested his book on her back. Stylish reading glasses were perched on top of his nose, giving him an air of intellectual distinction he was too often denied by… well, waving machine guns at people. 

Requesting another pillow to sit on instead of the carpet, Roy then kissed the back of her hand after she complied. Bending downward, she kissed the top of his head in return. Raising his glasses with his wrist in a more graceful manner than intended, Jason hid a genuine smile of his own. They were both wearing Kori’s clothes, and no shame could reach them because they, admittedly, looked fantastic in them. 

The archer had chosen a most extravagant attire consisting of a colorful, flower-patterned crop-top reading ‘GIRLS’ in capital bold white letters, to go with temporary golden tattoos on top of his real ones. His legs were strapped in shiny white leggings while a soft pink skater skirt covered his hips. Neon green frog-themed socks with individual toes and a glittery gold snapback completed the whole look. He had even let Kori apply (mostly failed) colorful nail art to his hands, which he had finished ruining on his guitar’s strings. 

Nothing as flashy for Jason, a black sleeveless top with high collar and a see-through lace back, to go with black jeans and fingerless gloves. Having lost a bet, there’s also a fine carmine line of eyeliner complimenting the tropical blue color of his eyes. Once his jaw had popped back in place, Roy had commented that he looked like a buff vampire. Better than like an anime girl, he’d replied, getting a pillow thrown at is face with extreme accuracy. 

Looking like a goddess from ancient times in her white-and-rose gold chiton, copper arm bracers glinting on her cinnamon skin, Kori had stopped them before it could evolve in a full nerf battle. This was supposed to be their day off. No vigilantism, no fighting either. 

Closing his eyes, the back of his head resting against his friend’s ridiculously comfortable pile of pillows, Jason allowed himself to unironically enjoy what Roy assured them was supposed to be Wonderwall. Kori’s legs were heavy and warm on his, her skin silk-smooth her his palms. Her hair was fascinating in itself. Floating languidly as if suspended in water, it not only emited its own light, but also its own heat all along its length. 

Since his very own series of unfortunate events, Jason hated the uncertainty and silent threat of darkness, however irrational the anxiety. Sleeping with her, dimly lit crimson strands floating above their heads, gave him a sense of security he was not yet ready to admit he felt. 

Roy did, however, state loudly how much he hated being alone in his bed. At first, his friend had thought he meant it in a sexual sense, a lame joke and nothing more. However, throughout missions and stakeouts, defeating immortals and other routine-like keeping the end of the world from happening, he’d discovered otherwise. Arsenal _hated_ sleeping alone. He’d curl up with Jason, at the risk of getting kneed in the process, until the other man understood. 

Until he fought back years of touch deprivation and self-depreciation to wrap his arms around his best friend. He knew he was playing a dangerous game. Getting used to this, the silly makeovers, the casual embraces, the platonic bed-sharing, meant he had no idea how to cope with losing it. Of course, he was and had always been a lone wolf. But there was a difference between waking up in a freezing hideout, no physical injury hurting quite as much as the pure feeling of _constricting void_ in your chest, and simply missing your friends.

He was not proud of it, but before forming the Outlaws, he’d been an undercover sex worker and seriously considered changing professions. Not for the money, and definitely not for the outrageous lack of respect most clients showed him, but for the abundant physical contact. Sparring and one-night stands comprised, he’d never been touched so much in his life. His colleagues were mostly men, some of them almost illegally young, others twice his age. After rough, packed nights, they’d just hug one another and patch up the occasional bruises (from clients or handling the pole a bit too loosely alike). It was almost never anything but platonic, even when they kissed. Just a bit of comfort the world seemed to deny them.

It had taken months for him to recover emotionally. Freeing them from their debts and pimps had been the easy part. Turning back to not using his voice for sometimes dozens of hours, and only to yell orders or threats, as well as turning his palms back to being dangerous weapons had taken its toll on him. Even the rare conversations he conceded to have with his brothers, out of despair rather than pure necessity were strained, work-related. Only once he dared to ask Dick to tell him about his day, and had had to deal with weeks of being watched because the family thought he was up to something. Better let them assume the worse than confessing he just wanted someone to talk to.

It was not about sex, that he could have whenever he wanted with faceless strangers. It was about hands in his hair when he was reading or cooking, hugs even in terribly inappropriate situations, holding hands during horror movies even though they’ve seen worse in real life. It was about being kissed goodbye, even as a corny joke. 

Underneath him, Roy shifted, leaving his guitar in its stand before crawling on the bed. Bending to rub his nose against Kori’s, he then curled up between his friends. His head resting against Jason’s hip, legs tangled with Kori’s, he picked a book of his own. Ignoring the pinch in his heart, an old habit not to trust anyone within punch reach, the other man tangled his fingers in his friend’s hair. Ever since he started stealing Jason’s shampoo, Roy had the softest hair to stroke. 

Jason knew he was nowhere near as comfortable as his friends were with casual touches. Probably would never be. And, god forbid, no chance of him being as touchy-feely as Dick. But he tried. 

When his friend raised up to kiss him, for absolutely no reason, he welcomed it. With an amused chuckle, Kori nudged Roy away to steal Jason’s attention. They often play-fought for him like that, much to his delight. Which he, however, refrained from expressing too enthusiastically. They’d never let him leave their bed, otherwise. 

They did not have -or need- a name for their relationship, but Jason had one arm around the waist of two of the most amazing people he knew, and that had to be enough. 

He made the mistake of laughing aloud when Roy’s stubble tickled his collarbone, lazy kisses being pressed to his jaw. The twin grins he saw on their faces announced that they both had the same idea. Usually a bad omen for him, but he did not intend to be able to walk straight by the end of the day, anyway.

It was their day off, after all.


End file.
